The Dark, at Night
by drekadair
Summary: Entreri loses something he didn't realize was important. Oneshot. Complete.


**Disclaimer**: the usual. I'm not making any money off this. Everything belongs to RAS and WotC. Please don't sue me, I don't have any money.

**Author's Note:** it's been a long time since I've posted anything! I adopted everyone's favorite mercenaries at fanfic100 on LJ, so I'll be slowly writing a lot of oneshots about them. When I have enough to warrant it, I'll collect them all together, but in the meantime this fic will stand all by it's onesome.

The prompt for this one was "spade." You can find my (99% empty) prompt table here.

oOo

_Now_

The frost only reached half a foot into the ground. Beneath the hard layer of frozen soil Entreri found nothing but cold mud. He drove the shovel into the earth and kept digging.

_Then_

The air was pleasantly sharp and smelled like cold air and snow, but the sky was clear blue, without a cloud in sight. Entreri pulled the wool scarf away from his mouth and asked the woman riding beside him, "How are you?"

Calihye snorted in annoyance. "Exactly the same as I was the last time you asked me. If you continue to ask that question every minute, I will kill you."

Her voice was level, but Entreri was certain she was joking. "You think you could take me in your condition?" he asked, equally serious.

Calihye looking down at her hugely swollen belly. "Perhaps not," she admitted. "Perhaps Jarlaxle will do it for me?" She looked over her shoulder at the third rider, who wore more layers than either of them.

Very little of Jarlaxle's black skin could be seen through the heavy fabric protecting him from the cold. His voice slightly muffled, he said, "I am a mercenary, Lady Calihye. I will do anything you wish, with the right incentive." He leered at her to show just what kind of incentive he had in mind. Calihye laughed.

"Since I am currently the size and shape of a whale, I can only assume you are being polite. I thank you for it, but I'd thank you more if you can keep Artemis from fussing like a mother hen."

Jarlaxle smirked at Entreri, who scowled at Calihye. "You should not be riding in your condition," he said sourly.

"'My condition'," Calihye echoed. "You make it sound like I have a disease. Women have babies all the time."

"Women _die_ having babies all the time," Entreri snapped. "This trip is an unnecessary risk."

"Dammit, Entreri," she cried, suddenly angry. "We've been over this a hundred times. I haven't seen my mother in years. I haven't been back since I left like that. I want to be home when I birth our child... I want to be with her." She looked at Entreri, and her expression softened slightly. "I know you're worried, but I'll be fine."

_Now_

In the pause between one shovelful of dirt and the next, Entreri heard nothing but the almost-there whisper of falling snow. He stopped digging and listened to the silence around him. The black sky overhead was hidden by a thick layer of snow-bloated clouds. Around him, the trees stood barren and lifeless, naked in their winter death. In the distance a single light glowed warmly though the skeletal branches, but it made the spot where Entreri stood seem more lonely, rather than less.

Despite the darkness, he could see clearly, thanks to the shade life-force he had absorbed some months previously. He studied his work in his stolen, colorless vision, and acknowledged that it was perfect. His work was done. Yet he did not climb up and walk back to the source of the light. As the sweat beneath his clothes chilled and became icy and he watched the night press around the distant glow like a smothering blanket, he was forced to admit that he did not want to go back. He did not want to see what waited for him there.

Waiting would not make it go away. With a force of will, he unclenched his hands from the spade and climbed out of the grave.

_Then_

The northern sky darkened with stormclouds as the frigid afternoon turned toward evening, promising snow and even colder temperatures. The forest began to thin, occasionally yielding glimpses of woodsmans' huts.

Entreri caught a flash of gray out of the corner of his eye and dropped his hands to the hilts of his weapons, but it was only a small gray squirrel, rushing across the road to the shelter of the trees on the other side. Calihye's gelding panicked at the sudden movement and pranced nervously, ears back in fear and head tossing. Calihye pulled on the reins and patted its neck soothingly. It shook its head once more... and lowered its front hoof onto a sharp stone. The horse made a high, almost human sound of pain and reared. Calihye, leaning forward to stroke its neck, lost her balance and pitched forward off the gelding's back.

Entreri was off his own mount before she even struck the ground. She landed heavily on her shoulder and chest and rolled awkwardly across the ground to avoid her horse's hooves, impeded by her swollen belly. Entreri seized the beast's reins and pulled it away from her prone form. Jarlaxle rushed forward, clawing at his restrictive clothing to reach his healing orb. Calihye pushed herself into a sitting position, but gasped in pain and pressed a hand against her stomach.

"No," she gasped, her eyes wide and her face pale. "The baby—_ah!_"

Jarlaxle held the healing orb over her and chanted for a moment. Calihye relaxed, the pained lines of her brow softening, and Entreri let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Jarlaxle began to rise, but she cried out suddenly and clasped at her stomach again.

Entreri released the gelding and knelt beside her, drawing her head into his lap. His chest felt oddly tight. He distantly recognized the sensation as one of fear, and the realization struck him so hard he forgot to breathe. He cared for her, in a way he had never cared for anyone—and had not even realized it until now, when it might—

No, he told himself. It would not be too late.

_Now_

Entreri stood before the rough farmhouse, just outside the halo of light that spilled from the cracks around its ill-fitting door. He had always been in his element at night, in the dark, and had enjoyed it, as much as he enjoyed anything, for the increased stealth and power it brought him. Now, he felt almost as though he were a part of the darkness—or as though it were a part of him. He did not want to enter the house.

The door opened and Entreri stepped back to avoid the light that flowed over the trampled snow. Jarlaxle stood in the doorway, backlit by the warm fire and many lanterns burning within. He had shed most of his heavy winter clothes in the warm of the house. Behind him, Entreri could see the aging couple who owned the house hovering anxiously, sympathy and fear on their lined faces.

"Are you ready?" Jarlaxle asked softly.

_No_, Entreri thought. Aloud, he said, "Yes."

_Then_

The old woman laid a gnarled hand on Calihye's pale and sweating forehead. "Hush, little dove," she murmured. "You'll be fine."

Calihye threw back her head and screamed.

In the next room, Entreri paced across the creaking floorboards of the little two-story farmhouse, torn between anger and fear. It was not Calihye that had been injured in the fall, but the child inside her, and Jarlaxle's orb seemed unable to heal the babe instead of the mother. Now Calihye writhed and moaned on the narrow bed, forced into labor a month early.

Jarlaxle looked up from his seat beside the fire. "Do sit down, my friend," he said. "Wearing a hole through the floor will not accomplish anything."

Entreri clenched his hands over the hilts of his weapons. The anger that filled him pressed against his chest like a physical weight, so strong it made his fingers shake. He wanted some violent action to release the terrible pressure: to scream, or draw Charon's Claw and run Jarlaxle through. He could no more stop moving than he could stop breathing.

Jarlaxle rose to his feet, an uncharacteristic expression of concern on his face. "Artemis, there is nothing more you can do...."

"I shouldn't have let her travel," Entreri growled, using all of his self-control to keep from shouting the words. "I should have kept her at the Gate."

"You couldn't have done that," Jarlaxle pointed out. "You would have had to use force to keep her there, and she would never have forgiven you that."

"Then I should have forced her! I would rather face her ire than her death!"

Something almost like guilt passed over Jarlaxle's face, but Entreri had turned away to pace the room again and did not see it. "You don't know she will die," the drow said quickly. "I am sure everything will be fine."

"Then you are a fool," Entreri snapped. "Her chance of survival is small, and even if she lives—" his mouth twisted suddenly, and then returned to its usual scowl "—if the child is not already dead, it will be soon."

Jarlaxle said nothing, and Entreri continued pacing. Three generations lived in the house. The old matriarch who sat beside Calihye had chased most of them away, but Entreri could still feel their presence. In a distant way he was grateful to the old woman, who had not turned away the drow and dangerous-looking mercenary who had appeared on her doorstep; who had, in fact, taken them in from the snow and settled Calihye in her own bed. Mostly, though, Entreri felt rage.

Calihye's voice rose in a series of long, strangled moans. Entreri gritted his teeth and forced himself away from the doorway, knowing what he would see and not wanting to see it. But a sudden, agonized cry froze him. He had never heard such a sound, had never imagined anyone could even make such a sound, but he knew what it meant.

Death.

He crossed the room in three strides and clutched at the doorway for support. Everything seemed to stop as he took in the tableau contained inside the little room: the old woman kneeling beside Calihye's spread legs, cradling a small form in her arms; the curl of Calihye's fingers as she fisted them into the sheet and the gleam of lamplight on the tears and sweat that streaked her face; and the blood.

There was blood everywhere, soaking into the mattress and running down Calihye's legs. It drenched the old woman's dress and dripped from the bed into small puddles. Entreri couldn't breathe. There was so much blood.

There was so much blood....

_Now_

Entreri turned his back on the warm light of the house and the warm, sleeping children inside it. He carried his cold burden through the drifting snow. In the safety of the dark, he laid the body of his lover in the muddy grave, and placed in her arms the body of his child.

He had no words of farewell, or prayers to the gods. He knelt there, in the cold and empty forest, and felt pain so great he thought he must die. He thought to crawl into the grave with them, and let the pain and cold take the life from his body, but he knew it was just a fantasy. He would survive. He could not do otherwise.

After a while the horrible pain eased, leaving him frozen and hollow. He stood, picked up the shovel, and drove it into the earth.


End file.
